By Beth Meneley
Driving into the flames, into the clouds of smoke that once was, I knew there was still time to get home and gather the momentos of my past. Flashes of my life’s special moments helped me navigate my way into what was sacred and what was no longer.
As I drove closer to my home that was guarded by majestic trees, I felt lighter. The winds were getting stronger and the flames were to follow their lead. The same wind that I surrendered to so much in my life to help guide my journey, now would direct me once again.
I thought about my aging mind and what objects were still needed to connect me to the memories of my and my loved one’s past. Each piece was significant but had already transformed and added to new memories. I reminded myself that one piece contained the vibration of the whole and that I contained the pieces of all before me. I am the evolution of all that came before and that I will live on.
I thought about the freedom I would feel if the endless piles of paperwork that I would never get to would burn. The business I closed with a trail of never-ending chaos, how free I would feel if that would burn. I thought about all the time stolen trying to organize the union of all chapters of my life closing at once last year with too many projects to ever go through. How so much of what I held onto, only held me down, and I was about to be free.
I didn’t really want anything to burn because I knew there would still be plenty of grief and disruption needed to process, but I recognized the opportunity I had to refocus my life on what really mattered. I always held onto pieces of my past and the road signs of my journeys because sometimes that was the only way I believed I could remember, and there were people and memories I didn’t want to forget. I had always been a collector of moments, but now I knew I needed a lighter way to remember.
When I arrived home, I gathered cameras, computers, some clothing and the small objects that still brought joy to my son’s sweet heart. My son’s baby pictures were stored in a cloud that could not be filled with smoke. I bonded with each room in my tiny home and the memories contained within them.
I drove away from the flames this time, the clouds of smoke containing the memories of so many were behind me as I approached the safe home of nearby family.
I was a transient guest of the canyon where generations bloomed before me. My roots hadn’t yet grown entangled in the earth below like others that were forced to recreate their home. I was no stranger to the sadness that was intertwined within the living. My life had trained me for moments like this. My life trained me to see that so much of survival is being able to let go and follow the direction that the wind blows.
Our home was spared in the end by the direction of the wind, though just minutes from the origin of the first flame. When I returned, my little home surrounded by majestic trees still welcomed me with peace and stillness, allowing me to feel free within the embrace of its walls. No ruby slippers awaited me at my doorstep, but I had been reminded that my power and home is always within me and this was a memory that would never be in flames.
